12 days, 12 nights, 12 deaths
by Dan The Man Bogosian
Summary: Re-posting my first story. Toned down from its original NC-17 rating.
1. Welcome to the Streets

DAY 1: CHAPTER 1: Welcome to the streets.  
  
Life was tough here. Men became gangsters, hitmen, maybe cops. Women became prostitutes and objects of manipulation. Boys? Well, there were no boys in Liberty. Boys went to school and became Red Jacks and Purple Nines, maybe a Southside Hood if they got lucky.  
  
Boys. Always the manipulators, never the manipulated. I felt bad for Maria, she had this new boyfriend - I forget his name. She never realized that the man was a cold blooded killer. He could walk into one of those murder traps the Leone's set up, not say a word. Just kill. The way it was meant to be done.  
  
Bullets. Bullets were common. In your car, in your pocket, in your back. Cops didn't care, at least not in Liberty. They would say they would, but the only real time you could tell some cop wanted you dead is when he saw his friend die.  
  
Yet cops couldn't take vengeance - "Against regulation". I felt bad for them - all they were was an endless supply of the 'Bureau's lackies. We all knew that the cops directly responded to the bureau on anything, atleast us on the streets.  
  
Note I said "endless". There were two million people in Liberty City, most of which on Portland. Most of those two million (probably somewhere around one million-nine hundred thousand) were just people who thought the police could handle things.  
  
When those people realized cops couldn't handle things, they signed up for the cops. It wasn't volunteer service, it was a paying job; but at every moment the cops were out of detectives, or patrol men, or SWAT's, or something.  
  
Those kinds of people pissed me off. People who didn't realize shit happens, didn't know that the shit hits the fan, didn't act like real men. And that's how this started.  
  
I was pissed off when it started. I got so pissed, I needed to take it out on something. So what'd I do? I robbed a bank, along with Maria's guy and his girl.  
  
I didn't know who he was. I knew he needed money, and I knew that girl enjoyed being paid to make love - hell, I knew it better than anyone.  
  
On the other hand, I knew who Maria was. She was my crush when I went to High School on Staunton Island. She lived by the colosseum, which is how I met her when I was just a little punk. An unpopular punk who didn't lose his virginity till he paid up the grand. A punk who saw the bigger picture.  
  
Yeah, the bigger picture. The Leone Family sent me there, sent where the big boys play. I worked with Tony, Luigi, and Joey. I met Salvatore, I bet he doesn't remember me. I like it that way.  
  
It's easy to kill when your faceless: the second you made a name for yourself you were gonna be hit. Sooner or later. 


	2. House Party

DAY 1: CHAPTER 2: House Party.  
  
Anyway, the bigger picture was the top - telling others what to do. You did that by getting the big, fat, lazy schmo drunk.  
  
Yes, I didn't like Salvatore. He's a bum who works hard in bed and only in bed. And only with Maria.  
  
The man was on top of the world solely because he had a legacy. I didn't, and I was making my way up. Luigi called me a hitman, and so did Mick. Joey called me a jerk, but that's because I "borrowed" a car.  
  
I only met Salvatore because he needed to set the rules straight about me borrowing cars: I could take any Mafia Sentinel if it helped me do my business or if I needed some wheels, but I could only steal one private car of Joey's.  
  
Joey had back-ups. And if he didn't, he'd buy some from Donald Love. Or atleast he would once the bridge got fixed. I knew it was 8ball and Maria's guy who destroyed the Callahan, but I didn't care. It prevented the Columbian Cartel (or as Joey called 'em, the "Colorado or somethin' Cartel") from getting to the Mafia, which showed some good signs..  
  
Joey was an idiot, too. I'm just glad Luigi and Mick liked me. Who was Mick? Mick was Luigi's best friend, before and after the mob.  
  
Mick got me here. Mick got me in safely. And since I was in with him I was on Luigi's good-side. Luigi was the future, not Salvatore's little Joey. Little Joey. Little Joey's place had an ad that sad "Joey's Autoshop", of which all the gangs in Liberty knew it was Joey Leone.  
  
I hated Joey and loved Luigi. That's when I left for Salvatore's house. There was supposed to be a party there, although I think it just ment that Salvatore would make Maria some love while I went there for some crap-job hitmen job with the man at my side.  
  
Who's the man? Maria's guy. He was the one guy who would get promoted further then me in a shorter amount of time.  
  
So I needed a ride. I saw a Banshee drive right by my apartment (no one owned a house in Liberty). I decided the shiny blue would look good with me.  
  
Bad move.  
  
It was one of those guys on the way to there policemen ball, and I picked the wrong man. I pulled out my nine-millimeter and shot the bullet through his head. It went through his head, so I figured I would give it the Mafia trademark: Three shots to the head. A perfect death. Luckily, the body fell out so the blood didn't ruin the leather. 


	3. Bonus Points

DAY 1: CHAPTER 3: Bonus Points  
  
Onto Leone's Gentlemen's Club. Why call it a "Gentlemen's Club"? The Leone's and the Cipriani's were hardly gentle men. They were mobsters.  
  
I drove. Driving was an escape. Drugs were also escapes, but believe it or not I had never done a drug besides some asprin, a pain killer, or caffeine. Never drunk, never high, never doped away on spank. Yeah, driving was a drug. I drove. That Banshee wasn't all that fast, but it accelerated better than anything. And mine was rigged for a cop. Slick.  
  
What was my motive? Who knows. The money, the guns, the prostitutes, the glory. Hell, the glory of this business! It was like the glory of war: It should not be glorified. You killed, you planned to kill. You saw your friends die, and you saw your enemies die, too. The only glory was coming home without a blood stain on your shirt, and mine never did. And when it did, whoever put it there got a blood stain of there own, they slept with the fishes. Whatever you want to call death, you still killed.  
  
Crash. Crash right into a Triad Fish Wagon behind the Leone's private Stretch. It might be luck, but that's the type of shit that got me where I am. Pissin' off Triad's, wrecking expensive cars that weren't mine OR the mafia's - a life of crime; by accident.  
  
One Triad Fish Wagon flipped over, hit another wagon to topple that over, too. That's when I notice two Fish Wagon's blocking off the Leone's place. So I put the tarred, ripped, crushed banshee in reverse and let vengeance pursue one of the better cars I could jack in Portland.  
  
Infront of the Stretch. When I saw who was inside, I was pleased to see Joey, Luigi, Tony, and the Man. The Man who did the Leone's personal brown nosing. The Man who got Maria due to his "big, strong muscles". Damn that man. He looked at me and fired an Uzi, not realizing I was making a name for myself.  
  
A name for me. What the hell was my name anyway? My name was not Italian, or Sicilian, or Chinese, or Japanese. No, my name was pure American. My name? Jake. No need for last names in the mob, hell; I bet you couldn't pronounce it any way.  
  
Luigi freeked when he saw who the Man was firing at. Bonus point for me, deducted points for the Man.  
  
Crash. I slam into the two Triad Fish Wagon's blocking Salvatore's, and the Stretch follows. Bonus points. The Stretch pulls into the Leone's private garage, door 1. I park outside.  
  
And I walk. Walk up the patio. Into the glass-bullet-proof- sliding doors.  
  
"Hello Salvatore. Maria's boy owes me big."  
  
"You wish."  
  
"Just wait." 


	4. Scarredface

DAY 1: CHAPTER 4: Scarred-face.  
  
Salvatore seemed to recognize me. This was the second time I saw him. He was always recognizable, as most Don's were. Why do they call them Don's? Salvatore Leone's name wasn't Don - its like whoever runs the Mafia took too much Godfather and too much Don Corleone.  
  
Salvatore is easy to recognize because of his slumpy face. There was nothing unrecognizable on him: always slouching, hanging with big breasted blondes and Asians who just seemed to have there shirt open as a preview of what would happen if you slipped 'em a twenty.  
  
Salvatore had a scar on his face. I'd like to call him Scarface, but I don't think he likes being called Al Pachino or a 1932 fake mafia movie. The scar looked like a switch-blade slice, and I never really noticed it before. It was large, but hidden under one of the multiple slumps of his cheek. A double chin, fat cheek, scarred face, and a tub of lard for a belly didn't make this man seem intimidating. No, it was the fact he was a double chinned, fat cheeked, scar faced, lard bellied man with four men with uzi's behind him when he walked to the bathroom.  
  
The door slams open. Not the way I came in, but the garage way. Salvatore speaks.  
  
"Luigi! How you doing? Sex Club Seven doin' alright?"  
  
"Yeah, sure.  
  
"Joey! Joey, you gotta find yourself a girl. Your momma would turn over in her grave if she saw you wittout a woman!"  
  
" I know."  
  
"Tony! How's your mamma doin'! You got a great family, pal, your just like your pop!"  
  
"Mom's doin' fine, Mr. Leone. She should see ya some time: just come over to my restaurant one of these days, one day when were done with these god forsaken Triads!"  
  
"And you! I have to talk to you. Come with me."  
  
"Salvatore! Before you go, know that Jake did good. That guy owes him a big one." said Luigi.  
  
The Man walked. I stared at him, eyes widened. Amazing how some people live, what some people do. I lived for love with Maria. Sure I knew Mick, but Maria introduced me to Mick, Mick to Luigi, Luigi to Joey, and so on.  
  
"So, what can I do to impress you guys more than that guy?"  
  
"Well, the Callahan bridge is fixed, so we have to deal with." Luigi was interrupted.  
  
"The Colorado Cartel!"  
  
"Very funny, Joey. Your jokes get funnier ever time you say them. Problem is, you say one every three minutes. Shut up and let me talk. Anyway, Jake, do me a favor; I don't trust this kid. Salvatore don't like 'em because Maria say she got a thing for him. 'He's cute is all', as she goes. We gonna send that bat to hell. Just go to Staunton and take out some Cartel - they got to many spank dealers for their own good."  
  
"How much cash will I be paid?" I asked Luigi.  
  
"A pack per kill."  
  
A pack per kill! That's one hundred dollars per every kill! That crazy little son of a bitch thought I was under capable, or I needed some kind of motivation.  
  
Motivation. What the hell do I need for motivation when I am goin' up against the biggest bastard in the world who just happens to be touchin' my love?  
  
Well, looks like I'll just kill the Cartel. 


	5. the Second Death

DAY 2: CHAPTER 5: The second death.  
  
Early morning. Who knows what time it is? I don't wear a watch. Pooring, pooring rain - more than just a light drizzle. In a Mafia Sentinel, who knows who's property it was originally. I got it off Salvatore, who probably got it off Joey, who probably got it from Donald Love.  
  
Past the Callahan, onto Staunton. I figured by now Salvatore already set up the Man's death trap, and I preyed to god it worked. I wanted him dead, and I hoped he would be. My beeper rang. It was from Asuka.  
  
Asuka wasn't against the mob, not with the mob. She was a friend since high-school, as with Maria. We joked about sex, drugs, rock and roll. We joked, we choked. We liked each other, always as friends. It's a shame Maria left me once I told her the truth.  
  
Asuka said Maria and her guy seeked refuge from the Yakuza's.  
  
Great. Now I had a feeling I was out of the mob aswell, and this mission was just Luigi's way of saying "Get out of here while you still can."  
  
My real apartment was on Staunton Island. All the mafia knew that, and I hoped that they weren't after me.  
  
Crash. Third time tonight I've crashed, and this was the worst. My heart barely stayed in my chest as the Sentinel flew. It flew, not floated, not went through the air, it flew. It would never end. I was flipping.  
  
Slow motion. Driving was a drug to me, so I guess it was a side effect. I landed.  
  
Pieces. Flames. I stepped out of the car, hoping to beat the explosion that would follow. What happened to the other driver? I'd find out.  
  
Boom. The explosion hit my leg, flipped me over. I rolled around. Blood stain on a Armadi suit. Great. I was just glad no one knew I was the killer of that cop with that banshee. I could go to the hospital safely, unlike Maria's guy, the Man.  
  
Sirens. First time tonight. I hoped I would never here that's god damnded sirens again. I hoped that everytime I heard them. Sirens, named after the Odyssey's Sirens. In that book these Sirens sang to attract sailors, but always led to there doom. I don't know why the Sirens attracted the men, but the doom part was a bulls-eye.  
  
A had killed two people that night, or that morning, or then. I killed a women, a fair, honest women. One of the few with a husband, rushing home from work to go to her Shoreside Vale suburb apartment.  
  
So now I had guilt. Great; just great. I would be wanted by the cops, I killed two people, and the mafia WAS going to kill me.  
  
My head fell down, and I became knocked out. Concussions just pick the best times to happen. 


	6. Out cold, Up warm

DAY 3: CHAPTER 6: Out cold, up warm.  
  
A hospital. I wake up. What do I get? A man, sitting on my bed. I could barely see - the Sandman got the better of me, blurring my vision.  
  
"Hey."  
  
It was Luigi. Okay, so I wasn't running from the mob. I spoke with as loud as I could, not saying much.  
  
"Hey. What's going on Luigi?. What. Why. What happened to Maria?" I asked, actually hinting to what happened with the Man and his death trap.  
  
"Long story. Long story short: Maria told Salvatore about her crush on that guy, so he set up a death trap for him. Maria told him, and they left for the Yakuza's. I don't expect the Mafia to be a player any more."  
  
"It's not that critical."  
  
"Oh yes it is. That man killed three Triad warlords, most of their front men, and a couple guys at the landrette. He was good. He was that good."  
  
"And I'm better than him. If I'm not, I will be. I want that man dead. I want him dead, now. I am no Mafia leader, screw the mafia, but I'll kill this man as an ode to Maria!"  
  
"That's a shame, kid. It's a shame because we were going to give you protection. We took your beeper, heard about Maria at Asuka's. She'll be dead, kid."  
  
"So be it."  
  
I got up. Head rush. Massive head rush. I paused; kept walking, trying to show Luigi I was fine. But deep down, my heart was still beating, but I marched to my own beat. The docs probably wouldn't let me out, want me out; but I would be out. Luigi was trustworthy; the only one in the Leone's immediate family. The mob wasn't after me, but I wasn't on their side.  
  
Wait a minute. They had my beeper! Asuka was still sending me messages. They wouldn't kill me, but they'd keep an eye on me, since I'd keep an eye on Maria.  
  
In the hall way. I had no idea if I was on Portland or Staunton or Shoreside Vale. I just walked straight, following the blairing "EXIT" signs in blood red.  
  
I had none of my street clothes. Once I got outside, I saw a wrecked Mafia Sentinel that would be mine. I also saw a Patriot. The Patriot would be mine.  
  
Off to my apartment, for street clothes and some ammo.  
  
I drive. I'm not gonna crash, or atleast that's what I'm telling myself. I'm going to make it, safe and sound. No surprises, just going to my apartment.  
  
I felt it on my leg. Sliding slowly, scaly. It was a snake- a boa constrictor. It wouldn't be a problem, just pull my gun and it was gone.  
  
My gun. My gun, in my cargo pants. The semi-automatic sub- machine gun commonly known as an Uzi. The Uzi would kill it, but this thing would make my leg numb.  
  
I drove. It scurried up my leg, tingling me. I had no pants on, just that disposable outfit you were required to wear during operations. I was wearing briefs, so it would constrict my man part. It would still be uncomfortable, though.  
  
I slowly stuck my hand down to my legs at a red light. I hoped it wouldn't go green, that my luck would change. And it did. I grabbed the snake, tossed it onto the sidewalk and drove once the light turned green.  
  
I wasn't afraid of snakes. I was afraid of spiders. What I was afraid of didn't matter, its not like I would wake up with spiders crawling through my bed.  
  
Stop. I am at my apartment. I run in, needing pants to prevent being arrested or staired at. Good lord, the stairs!  
  
I'm in my apartment. It has two rooms: bedroom and bathroom. The bedroom had a fridge, but pizza delivery was most of what I ate. You wouldn't expect a gangster to eat pizza; and then again you wouldn't expect a gangster to be named Jake or not be Italian.  
  
I finally got my pants on. Jeans, loose jeans. Loose jeans because tight jeans can't let you run. A thick leather jacket. Leather because if its thick enough it stops bullets. Under that, a tee shirt. No reason for that except to keep warm. Walking to my bed.  
  
I lift my pillow. An Uzi, an assault shotgun, a pistol, and an M- 16. That M-16 should never be lost. I stashed the pistol in the hidden holster in my jeans, the shotgun in the holster in my jacket. I stashed the M-16 in my second holster in my jacket {one on each side}, and I put the Uzi.  
  
I was about to put the Uzi into my last holster. But then I noticed something.  
  
Shadows. Shadows; funny as hell. Shadows left in the dark when it was scary, and appeared in the day to spook you. I was lucky I woke up late in the hospital: the sun from my one window made whoever-was- behind-me's shadow appear infront of me.  
  
I spin around and pull the trigger.  
  
Oops. I killed Asuka's bodyguard. Thank god it was Asuka; and thank god it was my apartment.  
  
"He didn't mean anything to ya, did he?"  
  
"Well. Let's just say I have a couple better men in line. Let's just say you owe me one, and let's just say your coming with me to Kenji's."  
  
Kenji. Kenji was my high school bully. Goody. 


	7. The Kenji Casino

DAY 3: CHAPTER 7: The Kenji Casino  
  
So we left for Kenji's. I didn't drive - Asuka did, as it was her Yakuza Stinger.  
  
We left the dead guard of Asuka's in the tub. No cleaning up blood, as it looked like tomato sauce from a pizza after we moved a pizza box near it.  
  
Soon after we had reached Kenji's Casino. There was a lot of protection inside, but rarely any outside. From the outside the cops couldn't tell if it was a gang-run place, but inside the of the casino showed the truth: That this was THE Yakuza hideout.  
  
When we went inside I saw Kenji again. He punched me in the shoulder like a friend would do, calmly.  
  
"Hey Jake-o!"  
  
"Hey Kenji. How's Yakuza goin'?"  
  
"That's not your business, shithead. Anyways, we got this kid Maria gave us. He's gonna kill some mafia folk but I was making sure you weren't there, okay?"  
  
"Yeah, sure. Thanks."  
  
"Listen, I need you to do me a favor. If you don't do it, fine; but if you do you get this place for protection and you also get a Yakuza alliance."  
  
"Look - I don't need your help. I don't want your help. I want this guy of Maria's dead. I'm not with the Mafia anymore but my sole mission now is to kill this guy."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Why. Why? because this guy treated Maria badly. This guy was a cold-blooded killer, a living Goodfella, a Bruce Willis anti-hero. I needed him dead. It was like he took all of what I wanted to be and became it without saying a word - literally. I wasn't going to say that to Kenji, but I was going to say something.  
  
"I'm gonna kill him 'cause he deserves it. I don't want your help but I am gonna take it 'cause my apartment has a dead guy, a pool of blood, no guns or ammo, and no vehicles. It's no good. I'll take your offer but don't expect me to do you any real big favors. Now what's this favor of your's?"  
  
I bet Kenji didn't want me to do anything big; and if he did, than I probably just lost it."  
  
"I want you to kill this kid once we're done with him."  
  
I didn't know why. I didn't care why. I just thanked god.  
  
I wasn't the only one who wanted him dead. 


	8. Nightfall's

DAY 4: CHAPTER 8: Nightfall's  
  
What Kenji called a place to sleep was a hammock between two fake palm trees in his casino. What Kenji called weapons were really weapons, though; the man had multiple M-16's, Uzi's, Beretta Pistol's, and a shotgun. He had a limited amount of AK-47's, though, as he only got them from dead Cartel.  
  
It was a quiet night at the Casino. Asuka told me about how things could get wild here. It could get wilder near Asuka's turf at the construction site. If you controlled the construction site, you would lose it soon enough. It was wear the Yardie's, the Cartel, and Yakuza all met up; the center of the warzone.  
  
Kenji had left for something. He said he was going to steal some cars at the parking garage, trying to steal a BF Injection or a Infernus or something. Maybe it was for a meeting with someone, who knew. Asuka also left, heading back to her place to hang with Maria.  
  
Creek. Creek. Creek. This floor creeked easily in some spots, hard at others. It was early morning when this started. I know I have to see what it is. It's got to be something making the floor creek.  
  
I stood up. It was to dark to tell. I slept in my street clothes - still had a leather jack thick enough to take a Beretta shot. I reached a counter, took an M-16 that had been behind the counter along with a bullet proof vest. I got behind the counter and mounted the M- 16, ready for what would come.  
  
The lights turned on. There were many Cartel all around us. They didn't see me; but they were looking for someone important. I didn't turn the lights on: the Cartel were stupid enough to take the chance.  
  
I pulled the trigger. Bullets flew. I probably hadn't killed any, just injuring a couple. The Columbian Cartel turned at me and fired, taking cover and such.  
  
I reloaded when I took some heat. I was below the counter reloading, not realizing that not all of the counter was strong enough to withstand a bullet hit. Some bullets whizzed by my head.  
  
So this is what it's like to stair at death, I though. Nothing to fear but fear itself.  
  
I got up and fired at them again. I saw that many of the Yakuza head been killed, as I wasn't the only one being shot at. My firing gave some of them time to get away.  
  
A Yakuza dived right over the counter and next to me. He hadn't been hit. I figured I could take alliance in this.  
  
"Cover me." he said.  
  
I didn't know why. He was a protector of the inside of this Casino, so he knew his way around; I trusted him to bring out the secret weapon or whatever. And hell, did he ever.  
  
He stood up and grabbed a crate as I stood up and fired. I fired like a fire ignites when in a gas tank, blasting my way out. He brought the crate down.  
  
"What's that?" I thought as both crunched lower than the counter.  
  
"Wine. Wine for Molotov Cocktails."  
  
Thank the lord. I knew it would be better if we threw some regulaur wine out there and then through out a flaming bottle, as the fire would spread quicker.  
  
"Throw some non-flaming one's first."  
  
"I know the god damnded procedure."  
  
I guess he was smarter than he looked. As he threw the wine and liquor bottles, I pulled out my Uzi and grabbed one under the counter and shot at them. We both went down for the last time.  
  
"They are idiots! Out of ammo throwing wine at us!"  
  
They we're idiots. He through the flaming cocktail above the counter and at the Cartel.  
  
Some Cartel got away, but atleast now I could leave. I holstered my Uzi again.  
  
I saw a bloodied Cartel lieing down.  
  
"Help me sir. You are no Gringo. You are warrior, sir. Help me, help me please!"  
  
Mercy. I loved the game of mercy. You would cause pain with one hand locked to another person's hand, just creating pain and never quit.  
  
This man just entered himself in a game of Mercy. Nearly killing me and my protectors? My friends? My only allies? That mofo, I though. He was dead.  
  
"I am no Gringo. I am a warrior. You, on the other hand. are dead."  
  
I pulled out the assault shotgun I kept in my right jacket holster out.  
  
"See you in hell, fucker."  
  
BAM. Four. Four kills by me in four days. I was definitely wanted by the cops or the cartel. I was wanted by somebody, and wasn't safe anywhere. That's when I heard them.  
  
I heard the sirens. Shit. I was dead, or atleast I needed to get out. I needed to escape; and I needed to escape as quick as lightning. 


	9. Truck on Down

DAY 4: CHAPTER 9: Truck on down.  
  
I stepped outside, explosions we're as common as mosquitos at ten PM in the summer. I walked across the street while taking some heat from the fires in the Casino.  
  
I saw where the sirens were coming from - not a police car, but a fire truck. This fire truck was loud and obnoxious. As usually, I could've killed the driver and I desperately wanted to.  
  
The firemen broke the glass of a Yakuza Stinger to get the hose to the Casino. The back was attached to the truck, which was attached to a fire hydrant. I felt sorry for the Yakuza; they had lost a good portion of their thugs. And Kenji! Where was Kenji?  
  
I saluted the firemen. They didn't ignore me, probably just saw me as a convict who wanted out (which I was). The fires were going up the building as three firemen went in and one used the hose on the truck to put out the fires.  
  
That's when I looked up. I saw a helicopter on top of Kenji's casino.  
  
Driving was a drug for me, always did the job over headaches and bad day's. When I saw that helicopter, I felt the head rush of a lifetime. This ride would be awesome, the time of my life as I knew it.  
  
And so I rushed up the stairs. The stairs were hot, but I could handle it. Atleast, I thought I could. Just don't look back, I told myself. Don't look back and you'll be fine. And I was fine. I was fine all the way up until I fell.  
  
I fell, spiraling downwards to my sudden death. Then, I felt a sudden shock in my chest. The fire truck's hose had hit me right in the gut. I was soaked, and lucky I had a leather jacket above my gray tee shirt. The hose pushed me up, and up to the helicopter.  
  
I landed on the blade, with my M-16 holster crashing into the blade and then into my gut. I slipped off the helicopter, bleeding slowly in my gut. I couldn't tell if I was bleeding from the hose or the blade, but I thought the blade.  
  
I had no choice but to take the controls of something I had done once in my lifetime, in which I had supervision.  
  
I had to fly with a helicopter that I didn't know what many of the controls were.  
  
This joystick must control direction, I thought. And this red button should start about the engine. This meter altitude. And so I recalled what I did.  
  
On the other hand, I forgot how long you were supposed to let the engine rev up, and I pulled to early. The helicopter took air for a second, until I got to the edge of the building and spiraled downward once again.  
  
In a twist of events on the un-mapped road of my story, there was an explosion from the fire that launched my helicopter back into the air as I was about to crash. I flew up, barely avoiding the fire hose and a building. I was lucky.  
  
Not lucky enough to know where Kenji or Asuka were, though. Better find 'em. 


End file.
